NationStates Jolt Archive

Houses of Parliament - Closed Session

Up until a few hours, it had been a normal working day for the Members of Parliament of the nation. Scattered throughout the country in their individual Constituencies, they had been going about their business; writing official papers, visiting voters, making speeches, dealing with the ever-present paperwork that came with the title 'The Rt Honourable' that they coveted so much. All in all, the same business that they had been attending to the day before, and the day before that, and the thousand days before then. The first sign that this day would break from its normal and mundane route were the helicopters and staff cars that arrived wherever they were working at the time, all bearing the logo of His Majesty King Alexander I.

Brushing aside all excuses and demands, the Secret Service Agents that arrived with the various means of transport ushered the MPs into the planes, trains and automobiles and escorted them to Parliament. When the MPs arrived, all within minutes of each other, they were escorted into the Chamber of Commons; however, they were not escorted by the usual Bearers in ceremonial uniform, but by armed guards wearing BDUs and wielding M-8 Assault Rifles. The guards stayed with the MPs as they filed into the Chamber and took their customary seats, before locking the doors to the Chamber and standing watch. The absence of the usual webcams, cameras and journalists also signalled to the assembled men and women that this session of Parliament would not be one that the public would be allowed to observe, as was the norm.

For a few monutes silence reigned, as the five hundred men and women took their seats and waited; ordinarily there would have been the buzz of hundreds of voices in the background as the Members exchanged greetings, traded gossip or even brokered deals concernign each others Constituencies. Today, however, there was an unnerving silence. It was eventually broken when the guards unlocked the doors briefly, admitting the King himself, attired in a sombre grey two-piece suit. As the sound of the locks on the Chamber doors reverberated around the room, the King strode to the Speakers Podium on the left-hand side of the Chmaber and took his place. Those who could see his face noted that it seemed pale and drawn, a worrying change from features that usually radiated cheerfulness and confidence at any other time.

Alexander surveyed the Chamber and the men and women who sat before him, shaking his head slightly. In but a few moments, they would realise that they were all present at the most important session of Parliament that had ever taken place in the history of the nation; their votes would decide the outcome of the nation for the next twenty years, if not more. Sighing deeply, Alexander raised himself to his full height, took a sip from the glass of water present at the Podium and began speaking in a low, sombre tone.

"Firstly, I shall apologise for the manner in which you have all arrived here, but in light of the circumstances I am afraid that I had very little other choice. Ladies and Gentlemen, this session of Parliament - one of the very few that has taken place in secret without the view of the public - will decide the fate of this country for the foreseeable future.

I have just returned from a meeting with the Prime Ministers of Questers and Praetonia, during which we discussed the continued belligerence and warlike behaviour of the Gholgothian nations. The invasion of Eurasia has been but the last in a long series of escalations, always violent, by the Gholgothian nations, and matters have now come to a head; diplomatic solutions, as few and pointless as were, have been tried and seen to have failed utterly. The two Prime Ministers were in agreement, as am I.

The time for diplomacy is over; conflict is the only alternative left for our two powerblocs. Ladies and Gentlemen, in a very short time, Gholgoth and the Questerian Commonwealth will be at war; it is up to all of us gathered here today to decide which course of action our nation takes; that of conflict, or that of isolation. Both have their costs and their dangers, and to this end I am calling for a vote to be cast immediately; either the Grand Monarchy goes to war and begins mobilization of all her military assets immediately, or we declare our neutrality and secede from the Commonwealth. These are the choices we must now choose from."

As Alexander had expected, as soon as he had finished speaking, the Chmaber was in uproar, as all five hundred MPs began shouting and banging fists, arms and even a shoe on their desks. It took several minutes, but as Alexander watched, sipping at his water dispassionately, two blocs began to form, not unlike that of the real-life Gholgoth and Commonwealth powerblocs. On one side lay the Neo-Conservatives and the majority of the Lib-Lab Pact, calling for war with the Gholgothian nations; on the other were a minority of Lib-Lab Pact MPs and all of the Isolationism Now! and Peace and Prosperity which demanded isolationism and even a demobilization of the current armed forces.

Arguments swept back and forth through the Chamber, growing more heated as the seconds ticked by; shouting turned to screaming, banging on table turned to threatening gestures, and shoes banged on desks were hurled at the opponents of their owners. After more than an hour of arguing back and forth, two leaders emerged to represent the two blocs. Anthony Giles, the Neo-Conservative leader, championed the 'War Party', and Annetta Yardwood, a Lib-Lab Pact MP, lead the way for the newly-formed 'Peace and Isolationism' Party'. With the two sides formed and showing no sides of changing, with every MP having chosen their side, Alexander placed the issue to the vote; would the Grand Monarchy go to war alongside it's Commonwealth bretheren, or would it remain at peace, declaring its isolationism?

The voting took a surpisingly short time, with little argument; the nature of the issue at hand seemed to have cowed all but the most ardent spirits. At three minutes past five, the issue was decided...

[OOC: Closed to myself and SS until further notice. No TAGging please.]

War!

[Editorial Excerpt From The Skinnian South-Eastern Gazette]
By Trander Utah

In the opinion of this humble reporter, who is but a man and a servant of this glorious Monarchy and its citizens, this is the greatest moment in the history of our nation; not in the times of that meglomaniac Xavier Martin and his fascist totalitarian dictatorship, but instead under the wise and imperious leadership of His Majesty King Alexander I, a man who has brought nothing but freedom, liberty and prosperousness to this mighty nation. It is under his enlightened leadership, and the council of learned men and women in Parliament - selected by the people, for the people, lest that be forgotten- that this nation has taken the lead in fighting the global horror that is the stain on the human soul of Gholgoth.

The word Gholgoth means many things; evil, tyranny, dictatorship, brutality, genocide and torture. Any decent member of humanity that does not live in a country under the reign of Gholgoth should shudder at the very mention of this blasphemous word. When I, a humble and loyal citizen of the Grand Monarchy, was fighting in Eurasia alongside the brave men and women that faced the Gholgothian hordes, I saw the effect that Gholgoth can have on a person.

I saw men and women utter that word and fall dead a moment later, their bodies another indictment of the horrors of Gholgoth. Oh, it may have been a bullet that killed them in a mere physical sense; but in reality they were dead long before that bullet tore into them and snuffed out the candle of their soul. Their souls recoiled and withered as they saw the horrors and disgusting excesses of the Gholgothian hordes that raped, pillaged and burnt their way through the pristine and glorious heartlands of Eurasia.

That, my loyal readers, is what is at stake in the world today; our very souls. For it is not just our families and loved ones that we shall be fighting for, nor will it just be our country and the rest of Haven. The Gholgothian hordes will desecrate them in every foul and vile manner imaginable, and others that I dare not write of in these pages, lest a child be reading them; that much is for certain.

However, it is for our immortal souls that we shall truly be fighting for. For if this nation and its citizens falls against the forces of pure evil, then it will not be enough that Gholgoth will enslave our friends and families and desecrate the land; they will wither away our very souls by the mere presence of their corrupt, diseased and putrefescent bodies, absorbing them in a hopeless attempt to regain that which they lost long ago.

As I said, I am but a humble man, one of the many billions of good, hearty souls that live in this pure and free land. Yet, I shall not be remaining in this country, not when the call for every stout-hearted and free soul goes out across the world to fight the Gholgothian barbarians. I shall take my trusty pen and revolver and report to you, my loyal readers, about the progress of the war against evil and corruption. Why shall I do this, I hear you ask? Why not stay at home, where it is safe, far from the barbarian hordes? I shall tell you, dear reader.

I have been marked by some higher power to leave my home and my possessions, and support every pure soul that takes up arms against the Gholgothian villains with my one true gift; my words. This is the truth. For it has now been a little over three weeks since I was marked. After leaving a press conference in Questers, I found a skull in one of the folds of my coat that had not been there when I entered the conference. I have researched this skull, and found it to have Gholgothian markings. This act of the almighty is obviously a sign; a sign that I have been marked by the forces of truth, valour and decency to steady the souls of those fighting against Gholgoth through the power of my words.

This will be my last editorial that I shall write from within the borders of the Grand Monarchy, this pure and blessed land. I must now take up my calling, and follow the armies of the Grand Monarchy as they march to fight the forces of evil and chaos. Even as I write this, I can see from the windows of my office the great queues that trail off for miles as the men and women of this country volunteer to fight in this war of god versus evil. I must now go with them and steady their souls with the power of my words. But I shall leave you with this.

We are fighting for our very souls and our redemption against the forces of evil. Gholgoth stands for everything that decent mankind recoils against; barbarianism, hatred, evil, chaos, brutality, enslavement, torture and the untold depths of depravity. To fight against these evils and triumph will require the service of every able-bodied man and women contained within the Grand Monarchy. So, as I finish writing this editorial and prepare to march to the sound of the drums, I ask you this:

Will You Join In My Crusade?

Parliament Square, Dowland City

The roar of the crowds, it was later said by visitors to the capital of the Grand Monarchy, could be heard from miles away; a cacophony of yelling, shouting and cheering that managed to drown out the noise created by tens of thousands of soldiers marching across the Square, boots stamping down in unison; the rumble of hundreds of tanks and other armoured vehicles that came behind each column of soldiers, tracks clanking and squeaking and sending tremors through the ground for miles across the city; the ear-splitting screeches of hundreds of aircraft flying through the airspace above the Square, trailing contrails behind them that weaved patterns in the air irself.

Parliament Square had been built in the aftermath of the Civil War some twelve years ago, a symbol of a nation reunited after the brief but terrible rule of a democratic ruler-turned tyrant. Stretching for more than a dozen square miles in the centre of Dowland City, local legend held that it would take nearly an entire day to walk around its perimeter. As he stood on the podium specially erected for the occasion, King Alexander I did not know if the local mythos was indeed true; but as he looked out over the hundreds of thousands of spectators that had assembled either side of the main concourse, along which the massed troops and tanks of the Grand Monarchy's military now marched, he could not see the edge of the Square, so packed was it.

Dropping his gaze to the troops below, he snapped off a smart salute to the Colonelwho was perched in the turret of Champion MBT that led the next group, this time more than one hundred of the Main Battle Tanks that formed the core of the Royal Armoured Corp. The man saluted back, then turned away and was soon lost in the distance; another soldier who might soon be going to war. Alexander gave a smile and a wave to the crowds, and turned to the man next to him, Paul Hutton, Minister of Defense. Hutton, clad like Alexander in his best dress uniform, beamed at Alexander, moving closer and cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the cacophony of sound.

"Hell of a spectacle, isn't it?"

Alexander nodded in agreement, looking upwards as a Squadron of Jaguar Fighter-Bombers swept through the sky bare meters above the crowds. He smiled again as he watched; long the exclusive domain of the tyrannical regime, massed military parades like this were an excellent way to show off the strength of the Grand Monarchy, and also to focus public opinion on the war clouds that loomed ever-closer in the sky. It was Alexander's fervent hope that such a conflict would be avoided; but as the next few moments would show, this was not to be the case.

For a few moments longer Alexander knew peace, and then there came a tap on his shoulder. Turning, Alexander saw that it was Hutton, a serious look on his face. Hutton gave a curt nod to a messenger who had suddenly appeared at his side, then motioned to Alexander that they needed to talk. Waving once again to the crowds, Alexander moved backwards into the crush of dignitaries and lesser politicians until the two men found a space to talk, ringed by Secret Service agents. Hutton didn't mince his words, but came straight to the point, a feat Alexander admired in him.

"It's begun, Alex. A few hours ago the Questarians began naval operations in Haven, and the Skyians fired back; all hell has broken loose. We're receiving reports of mobilizations in all the major combatants, and fighting breaking out in a dozen theatres. We can't avoid this any longer, Alex. Either we fight, or we sit back and watch. Your choice."

Alexander stood for a moment, digesting this information. He felt cold, despite the heat of the sun; he had known that this was coming, had realized that it would be inevitable, yet the reality had not hit him until this moment. Turning, he strode back to the platform and raised his hands to the assembled crowds; at the same time Hutton placed a microphone in front of him. It took a few minutes for the crowds to get the message, as well as the troops below; eventually the troops stopped marching and the roar of the crowds became a muted chatter. When he was satisfied, Alexander took a deep breath and began speaking.

"My fellow citizens. My fellow citizens. Such words seem...hollow, at the best of times, but they must suffice for now. As you all well know, the Grand Monarchy declared war on the forces of Gholgoth some days ago, because of the constant attacks on freedom and liberty, and the cruel crimes they have committed in the name of their tyranny. Yet nothing happened in that space of time; many dubbed it 'The Phoney War'. Until now, there had been some hope, however slim, for peace.

But now, that chance is gone...perhaps forever. A few hours ago, the brave men and women of the Questarian Navy began operations against the Gholgothian forces in Haven. Men and women have been killed; ships have been destroyed, planes plucked from the sky. The Phony War is at an end; the real war has begun. This will not be an easy conflict for us all to bear; there will be many sacrifices ahead; many privitations; much danger and fear and death. But we will weather these all, and emerge triumphant, for we have the just cause. Gholgoth will be defeated, and democracy and freedom will win, as they always have."

With that simple, stirring speech, the King changed the course of the Grand Monarchy. He bowed solemnly to the crowds, who had become deathly silent, and then walked off of the podium, the silence devestating compared to the noise present just a few moments ago. As he walked, joined by Hutton and a small number of advisors, Alexander remained silent, as if the weight of what he had just announced was crushing him. He reacted only when a messenger pushed through the cordon of guards and saluted. Alexander listened to what the man had to say, and then stopped abruptly. He turned, and in a quiet voice strained with tension, demanded the message be repeated.

"Your Majesty, he wants to see you. He's been demanding to see you for hours, but this is the first time we've been able to get a message to you, sir. That's all he's been saying for hours, sir, even after Colonel Sawyer had him beaten: "Get me the King"'

Lewis Island - 225 Miles South-West off the Skinnian Coast

The group of helicopters flew over the coast of Lewis Island, blue-grey coral rapidly changing to a grimmer, dirtier yellow as the aircraft headed inland towards the centre of the Island. There were a dozen of the helicopters, clustered tightly in two groups; in the centre flew eight Chinook transport helicopters, long and stubby fuselages differing greatly from the four gunships that formed a perimeter around them, angular and predatory.

Within a few minutes the two groups had flown the short distance from the coast to their destination, a small number of buildings that lay to the left of the river, the Ismus, that ran through most of the island and into the sea. These buildings, no more than a dozen in total, were the only buildings on the entire island, and they housed the only population. Very few people in Haven knew that the island was even populated; of those who did, only a few knew that a military unit was permanently stationed there. Officially, to those who enquired about the island and its garrison, the story went that the island had been converted to an missile testing range, to the extent that several of the buildings that the helicopters neared could be seen to be large storage warehouses, and the thickly-concreted top of a missile silo.

However, any close inspection - not that it was ever allowed - would have shown that the Silo was a fake, merely a concrete base with a thermal generator beneath it, and the Warehouses were completely empty. The defenses that the garrison rated were also well beyond those even a missile testing sight would have required; a massive unmarked minefield lay around the buildings, a mixture of anti-personnel and larger anti-vehicle mines. In addition to the minefield and the swathes of barbed wire that could be seen, there were dozens of SAM and AAA positions dotted around the base, as well as a similar number of pill-boxes and sandbagged positions. As the leading helicopter breached the airspace directly around the base, only the transmission of a password by the pilot stopped all twelve aircraft from being knocked from the sky in a few seconds.

Clearly, whatever this base housed, it was not merely a missile silo and attendant guardians. As the gunships came in to land around the solitary airstrip present inside the perimeter of the base, the larger Chinooks slowly circled, awaiting confirmation that they could land. Inside one of the transports, Alexander and Hutton stared out of one of the side-doors at the sight before them. Both wore earpieces to protect them from the noise of the Chinook's rotors, and as the helicopter began to descend, Hutton tapped Alexander on the shoulder and leaned in to shout over the combination of rotor noise and the earpieces.

"No matter how many times I come here, I never get used to all this. How much did this cost to build, anyway, and who did you have to bribe to keep it quiet?"

Alexander gave a tight smile at the question, not responding for a few moments. Whenever he came to Lewis Island, his stomach always seemed to tie in a tight knot at the thought of even approaching what lay underneath the heavily-guarded base. Shaking his head and taking a sip from the canteen beside him, Alexander wiped his mouth with his sleeve and replied.

"You don't want to know. I had this place constructed to keep him only a few months after the end of the Civil War. We were still rebuilding back then; we hadn't even got Parliament House fully built then. But there was still a lot of goodwill left, and I managed to get the money from shutting down a half-dozen of the programs Xavier started in the last few years before the conflict. Parliament were pretty decent about it, as well; they agreed to keep the request under the radar, as it were, and hushed up or 'lost' the Hansard records."

Hutton nodded, then both men braced themselves as the Chinook finally landed, the helicopter rocking slightly as it landed. Alexander gave Hutton a nod, and the two men unstrapped themselves and jumped out of the Chinook and ducked under the spinning rotors; the time for conversation was at an end for the moment. The two men were followed out of the helicopter by a dozen armed men and women in tan camouflage uniforms, all holding some form of assault rifle or sub-machine gun; all wore the patch of the 95th Special Operations Unit, a white star on a blue background. They fanned out around Alexander and Hutton as they moved, keeping guard. From the rest of the Chinooks emerged more soldiers, also special forces; however, these did not wear the patch of the 95th, and indeed did not seem to wear any symbols or emblems of rank at all.

Hutton pointed to one group of the mysterious soldiers, who had begun unloading equipment from one of the Chinooks. "Odd coves, those chaps. Hardly speak a word, and I'm not even sure what unit they're from. They seem to have replaced the rest of the 95th that were supposed to rotate into Lewis this month."

Alexander grunted at the comment, effectively ignoring it. He had far more on his mind than to wonder about the status of a group of special forces, even ones on such a base as Lewis Island. He nodded to a tall, gaunt man in the uniform of a Colonel who had walked out of a nearby building, and motioned to the group to stop. The Colonel walked up to Alexander and snapped off a crisp salute.

"Your Majesty. I wish I could say that it's a pleasure to see you again, but I can't imagine you derive any great pleasure from these visits."

Alexander shook his head. "Hardly, Saul. Sometimes I just wish that I could have the bastard shot and have an end to it. But that would be playing into his hands and using his own tactics, unfortunately. How is he?"

The Colonel, Saul Davis, motioned for the group to walk into the building that he had exited from. He saif nothing until they had passed through the door and into the building itself, which consisted of nothing but a bank of computers, two airport-style scanners, and a double-doored elevator. Each person in turn passed through the scanners, before being searched by several armed guards; sniffer dogs prowled past them, and more guards kept their weapons trained on the group as they were scanned and searched.

Finally, the whole group was cleared, and came to the doors of the elevator. The men and women of the 95th took up station next to the doors, whilst Davis, Hutton and Alexander walked alone into the elevator. Davis had said nothing during the scan, but finally replied to the King's question when he had pressed the solitary button planted in the side of the elevator and it began descending.

"Up until a week ago, he was fine. Nothing really changed. But then something happened - I don't know what, exactly. He began demanding that he see the King, immediately. Well, he's done this before, of course, but never quite as persistently as he's doing now. Just kept demanding to see you, Your Majesty, and wouldn't shut-up until I finally acquiesced. That's about the whole story, really."

Alexander grunted at this, his mind in turmoil. Why would the prisoner demand to see him, especially at this crucial times when time itself was in short supply. If it was merely a ruse to waste time, he would not be impressed. He said nothing until they reached the bottom of the elevator shaft and the doors opened. They three men entered a large encave filled with rows of computers and surveillance equipment, and a number of guards who either sat at the computers or stood guard at another set of double doors on the other side of the room.

Davis waved over one of the guards. "How is the prisoner? Cooperating?" The guard nodded, and then stepped back. Davis motioned to the two men, and they walked through the double doors, opened by two of the guards. They entered a long, narrow hallway, in which a number of doors were affixed. They walked past a dozen of the doors, which led into small cells, before they came to Number XIIII. The plate beneath the solitary barred window read 'Martin, Xavier, 01'

Davis unholstered his pistol and then swiped a card on a keychain that hung from his belt down a card-reader affixed to the door. With a metallic clunk, the door swung open slightly; Davis pulled it the rest of the way. Hutton and Alexander stepped inside; as he did so, Alexander looked at Davis.

"Thank-you Colonel. You may go now. We'll be alone with the prisoner."

Alexander waved aside the Colonel's objections, and pulled the door ajar behind him. Then, he simply stared at the man who sat on the single piece of furniture in the cell, a military-style foldable bed. Xavier Martin stared back, a slight grin on his face. He was slightly thinner than when Alexander had last seen hi, but was otherwise still physically the same; still tall and square-shouldered, with a mess of black hair that had a few streaks of grey now running through it. Though sitting on the bunk and wearing nothing but a plain white prison uniform, Xavier still managed to exude an aura of power and entitlement that unnerved Alexander slightly. To try and cover up this unease, Alexander spoke first.

"I have very little time at present, Xavier. What is it that so desperately requires my attention and time, according to you?"

Xavier smirked at this, and folded his arms behind his back, one leg drawn up on the bunk whilst the other dangled carelessly. When he spoke, his voice was deep-pitched, melodious, the same one that had made him famous in pre-Civil War Parliamentary Debates.

"Ah, yes. The Pretender has started another war, hasn't he? How precious that really is. Grown too tired of sitting in a hair and growing blisters, eh?"

Hutton snarled at this, and took a step towards Xavier. "You'll address the King in the proper manner, you damned tyrannical bastard!"

Xavier gave Hutton a mocking smile at this outburst. "Very well, very well, if you do so insist Hutton. I never knew that you had such energy; you certainly never showed it in my old Cabinet." He snapped his head around suddenly, staring at Alexander. "Your Majesty" he drawled, every syllable ladened with sarcasm, "I hear word that you have further de-manned and humiliated this great country by siding with the Questarians in their foolish attempt to destroy Gholgoth. If further proof was needed of your inadequacy as a national leader, then here it is. You really are a fool if you think that Gholgoth can be destroyed, and by tying your coattails to Questers, then you have truly doomed this country; the simple fact of the matter is that Gholgoth cannot be defeated. It can only be stemmed for a short time before it crushes those who oppose it."

Alexander stepped closer to Xavier, and scowled at him. "If all that you wanted was to lecture me on the conduct of my foreign policy, then you could have written a letter, which I could have ripped up. The effect would have been the same either way. Was that all that you wanted?"

As Alexander turned for the door, Hutton following, Xavier simply laughed, the sound echoing around the small room. "You simple-minded fool. Of course that was not all that I wanted!"

Alexander stopped at the door and turned to look at Xavier. As he did so, there came the muffled sound of an explosion above them; the cell walls shook a little, plaster and concrete crumbling and falling to the floor. "What did you really want then, Xavier? What have you done?"

There came another explosion, followed by two more; thistime they were closer together. Xavier smiled at the confused expressions on the faces of the two men. He gave another laugh.

"Why, it's simple, gentlemen. I intend to take back control of my country."